


Touch Me Fall

by thaliachaunacy (thalialunacy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Dystopia, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-01-01
Updated: 2007-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thaliachaunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Hermione seems to be a vampire, and Remus seems to be a traitor, and everyone else seems to be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This was started...ten years ago? as a charity-commission for The Quidditch PItch. I don't know if it'll ever get finished. But reading it again has brought me great pleasure.
> 
> (warning for dub-con of the romance-novel variety)

_I live alone; the habit grows._

\---

She first noticed it in front of the armaments shop. The skin on the back of her neck prickled, and her fingers skidded to a stop on the smooth wood of her wand as she pretended to study the mostly unreadable sign above the door. The 'Z' was plain to see— _not human, she could tell_ —but the 'onko's' was only discernable if one looked closely— _but not foe, either_ —or had a very good memory.

Then it was gone. She kept her eyes on the sign momentarily, just to be sure. Then she pushed through the door into the shop.

She had come to buy, after all.

\---

The second time was during the next sunrise. She watched the grey slip up from the horizon, leaning against the rough bark of the tree just outside her back door as she waited for the first light to prickle her flesh.

The clouds stuck in the sky like perfect little candy floss puffs. At the thought of the sweet, she nearly smiled. It'd been so long since things like that were available, but if she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could nearly feel the swirls of sugar melting on her tongue.

Then she felt it. Felt him again.

_Immortal,_ she could now sense as well. 

That would explain why she'd felt the neutrality yesterday. She kept her eyes closed, concentration shifted. The tingling fear was more pronounced this time, extending all the way down her back and to the hairs on the back of her wrists.

_Searching._

_But for what?_

Then it fell away, and her eyes snapped open. A poke with her wand confirmed her wards—so strong she'd get arrested on sight if a Ministry Official were to discover them (and survive the discovery)—and she turned her back on the woods and the rising sun, the cottony clouds forgotten.

\--

The third and final time was on the pathway to her house, a few days later. She routinely scanned the surrounding dark wood from under a frame of fringe, her unruly hair heavy and damp from the ever-pervasive nighttime chill. The trees comforted her even as they loomed endlessly in a tangle of untraceable foliage. She knew their rank, had scoured every inch. They were hers and hers alone.

Or so she'd thought.

_Searching, still._

She couldn't spot any movement, even as her eyes began to burn with the effort. Casually, she threw out a finding charm, but at a legal strength that didn't penetrate the thick undergrowth sufficiently for its negative results to assuage the decidedly ill-boding feeling in her gut. She reflexively cast some guards on her person—at proper strength, Ministry be damned—and approached the front entrance of her small house.

Her hand on the heavy wood, she paused. "I'm going to go inside now," she said loudly, without turning. "I plan to have tea, perhaps a bite of supper, and then sleep till sunset. Since it's obvious you're not here to assassinate or arrest me, I'd appreciate it if you would be gone by the time I leave again."

As she unlocked her door and stepped inside, the forest provided no answer. The presence had gone.

\---

"Miss Elizabeth?" Hermione nodded wearily at the clerk. She'd slept badly. "You have a message."

"Oh?" She was curious, she had to admit. "Has it been checked?"

"Of course." He threw a puppy-like smile at her. "Did it myself." He flicked his wrist jauntily in a faux-wand movement, and a corner of her mouth curved up.

"Thank you, Nick. Knew I could count on you." She accepted the small folded parchment, her gloved hand careful not to crumple or blemish the surface.

Once out of the building, she ducked into the alley and pulled out her wand. It wasn't that she didn't trust Nick. She simply knew better.

A few spells later, she exhaled and opened the missive.

 _Apologies_ , it said in precise script. _I wanted to make sure you were all right._

And below that was a name she thought she'd never see again: _R. J. Lupin_

She stood there, for just a moment, and then pulled out her favourite Muggle pen. _I'm fine._ She stopped writing. She put away the pen and folded the parchment back to its original shape. She carefully performed upon it every protective charm she could think of.

Satisfied, she strode back into the shop and handed it to Nick. "I'm sure whoever left this here will return for a reply." She headed towards the door, only to turn back at the last minute. "No, wait." She took the note back from him. "One more thing."

Holding it very delicately, she pointed her wand at a calculated angle and muttered a specific set of words—hexing it quite thoroughly. 

\---

Needless to say, when she saw him walking towards her house after sunrise the next morning, she was a bit surprised. He looked the same, more or less, although his clothing—still shabby—was of a different style, as if he'd got it in another country, or another era.

She sniffed.

Waving her wand, she very casually removed a few of the most harmful wards. She also very deliberately left a few of them up. Then she focused on her manuscript, anticipating at the very least an angry yelp.

After long, ticking minutes, when not even a small whimper came, she gave in and looked away from her papers. 

He stood about twenty feet from her door, directly in front of the crux of the remaining protective spells, with his wand out. His eyes were closed, concentration pulling his brows slightly together.

With a slight ping, the wards broke. Hermione nearly squeaked with displeasure. It was true, she hadn't reinforced them in a while, but she still couldn't stand that it'd been that easy for him.

Then she remembered the door, and settled back into her chair. Moments later, a hissed expletive came from behind the heavy wood, and she nearly chuckled. She didn't move, though, just continued to push her quill against the parchment.

"Ms Granger, please." She could hear the tap of his wand against the door as he tried to cajole it into opening. His use of her name brought back memories she'd thought long buried, and that brought a wrinkle to her forehead. "As lovely as these woods are, it is a bit chilly out here. ...damn it." She nearly smirked as he discovered the doorknob's tendency to relocate when threatened.

The tapping stopped. She kept writing, watching black lines snake across the page. "Must I resort to violence, now? Truly, you are not the person I'd hoped you would become."

Before she could be insulted by that statement, the triple-paned glass of her front room's window exploded inward.

"Bloody hell!" she shrieked, instantly vanishing the papers and ducking into a roll, catapulting herself away from the flying glass. She ended in a crouch, both wand and Sig Sauer at the ready. Her eyes skidded around towards where the werewolf calmly stood surveying the damage he'd caused.

He glanced at the now-empty window frame and, probably seeing that it would still be too small for him to fit through, raised his wand again.

Hermione surged to her feet and pinned him quickly with a disarming spell. "I'd thank you to refrain from destroying any more of my home!"

He held his hands up, only a bit resigned. "Well, with that ridiculously uncooperative door, what did you expect a decent man to do?"

"It cooperates perfectly with me. It's a Weasley special." She paused, caught by saying the name aloud, but found herself and pointed her weapons more sharply at his heart with a disgusted gaze. "And if you expect to convince me of your decency after that little show, you are even more of a fool than I had thought." 

He met her eyes steadily, all levity gone. "I don't have licentious, malicious, or otherwise unpleasant intentions, despite—" He waved at the shattered glass on the floor. "Besides, need I remind you that you are the one who has tried, twice now, to do me bodily harm, and are even at this very moment pointing weapons at me? Although that second—" He gestured toward the Sig with an amused quirk of the brow. "—seems hardly necessary or intelligent."

"Bullets tear flesh, immortal or not."

"True."

"And you did break my wards." 

"True."

"But I suppose you have a point." She lowered her weapons halfway, and searched his eyes.

_Not foe, still and again, no matter how hard she looked._

Curiosity propelled her the remaining distance, and she holstered her Sig to open the door. His lips seemed to curl into a smirk, but she deflected his gaze. His opinion did not matter to her.

As he bent to retrieve his wand, she couldn't help but glance down his frame. "Besides," she added with a chilly undertone, "you know what they've said."

"Yes." He stepped through the doorway, stepped too close to her. "I also know you don't give in to their propaganda so easily."

She moved back, suddenly conscious of her heartbeat. Her hand felt for the butt of her gun instinctively. She hadn't had anyone in her house in a very long time, and here, suddenly, was an immortal and—she forced herself to remember—the enemy. "My reputation precedes me?" she replied dryly. "That's just ducky. Remind me to find out who's leaking it and torture them slowly and painfully."

He studied her for a moment, and then spoke quietly. "It's over, Ms Granger."

Her trigger finger twitched. "Not for me, it's not. Now if you would kindly—"

"I'm not leaving for a good while, so I'd advise you put the kettle on and get your papers out again."

She balked. "You can't think I'm going to allow you to skulk around my home while I work!"

At that, he nearly smiled. "I'm not the skulking sort. And I would hardly call this a home."

She glanced around cursorily, genuinely surprised. "It's got everything one could possibly need, Lupin."

"Mm-hmm," he murmured noncommittally. "A bed, a few chairs, a table, a loo, and a closetful of astoundingly harmful weaponry. Home sweet home. Miss Elizabeth."

Her stomach wriggled, but she smoothly ignored his use of her false identity. Taking her seat again with an annoyed sigh, she twisted her wand between her fingers and met his eyes balefully. "I've only been here a month, which you must know if you knew enough to find me. What do you want, really?"

He hesitated, and she felt the fingers of his thoughts reaching into her mind. She concentrated on blocking him out, so fiercely it nearly hurt. After a bit, he acquiesced, taking the seat opposite her. "Would you believe it if I said 'closure'?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps. You probably have no idea what happened."

"We shall see."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I'm here to help, really," he said simply.

"Oh? With what?"

"With the carta."

"How could you—" She clenched her wand, cleared her throat. "What carta? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." One corner of her mouth lifted smugly. "And besides, those are against the law. I don't know if you got notice of that, in your—your camp."

"Now, Ms Granger, I should think you'd know better. Only _some_ of them are illegal."

She saw the bait and refused to rise. "Yes. And your point?"

The humor faded from his eyes. "In exchange, I need your assistance as well."

She made a noise of disbelief. "You've managed by yourself this far."

"No, I haven't."

Her eyebrows drew together as her eyes traversed his form. "Oh, honestly. You look fine to me."

His lips curved for a moment. "Well, thank you, but the credit goes not to me. I was well taken care of."

She could only imagine. "And now?"

"And now I need a place to stay," he said smoothly, "in exchange for filling in some facts that you don't have." He leaned towards her, the gravity in his expression nearly palpable. "Hermione, the work you're doing is monumentally important." She was too surprised by his words to protest the use of her proper name. "It _needs_ to be written. And it needs to be written correctly."

She bristled. "And only you can help me do that? You, the traitor?"

His expression flickered into stone. "Yes, me, the traitor." A muscle in his jaw jumped, and he looked down at his wand for a moment. "I'm simply asking for the chance to tell you another side of the story. And I should think that an intellect such as yours wouldn't be able to pass it up." And he met her gaze again.

_Damn it._

The truth of it must've flashed in her eyes, because a smile graced his face momentarily. She let out an annoyed sigh. "Very well."

"Good. Now get those papers back from wherever you sent them, please." He then stood and began to remove his long surcoat. "You wouldn't happen to have room in your personal armory for my jacket, now, would you?"

Her jaw quirked as she stood and inclined her head in the direction of the coat closet. "Just don't get too near the percussion grenades. They're...special."

"Meaning...?"

"They bite."

"Ah." He seemed almost amused as he put away his coat. She nearly smiled as well. Those grenades were her favorites.

"I prefer black currant tea, if you have any," he added, his voice muffled by the closet door.

She made a noise of disbelief to his back. "Oh, you do, do you? Well, that's lovely, as it's a nice tea, but we don't have it in this country anymore. Another news bulletin you seem to have missed."

He turned, surprise evident on his features. "No? Hmm. I'll have to contact some people and see if I can't get some for you."

She felt her cheeks begin to flush, bit down on a nasty retort, and went back to shifting her wand from one hand to the other. "That won't be necessary. I can survive without such comforts."

"Can, yes," he countered simply as he settled back into his chair. "I see very well that you can. But that doesn't mean you should have to."

This warmed her, despite everything.

Then he continued. "Whatever you do have will be fine."

Her lips pursed, the warmth quickly threatening to disintegrate. "You can't be serious." She gave her Muggle-style clock a pointed glance. "I can't have tea at the moment, it'll keep me awake."

"We have work to do, so that'll be alright."

"I have places to be tonight, and need the rest."

"Haven't been sleeping well?"

"I sleep fine."

"Then tea it is." He stood, and she watched him through narrowed eyes as he started preparations for tea as if he'd lived there for years. "Close your mouth and retrieve those papers of yours. Or better yet—" He gestured vaguely with a spoon. "—let's start with a synopsis of, roughly, what you think you know."

The warm feeling vanished altogether. "Quite a lot, I'd say."

"Mm-hmm." He finished with the kettle and sat again, waiting for her to say more.

"Why must I start? Aren't you the one who offered information?"

"Fine, then get me the manuscripts," he said blithely.

"You know I won't."

"So tell me what you know and we can go from there. It's the smartest way, and we're wasting time arguing about it."

She simply shook her head. Even if she'd wanted to, even if she'd trusted him...she couldn't fathom saying any of it aloud. She hadn't even planned on anyone knowing the manuscripts had come from her, let alone hearing her tell the story.

It simply wasn't something she was prepared to do.

Lupin expelled a short breath. "Look, Hermione, you're going to tell me. You're either going to tell me willingly, or there's going to be a fight. We both know quite advanced magic, so it'd certainly be a fight to see. But I haven't the energy for it at the moment, and from the looks of that permanent pallor you seem to sport, neither do you." She opened her mouth to correct his ignorance, but he didn't give her a chance. "Let go of the reticence. We're on the same side."

Pain pinched her side. "I highly doubt that."

He didn't rise to the bait. After ticking seconds of his scrutiny, of feeling his attempts to slip into her thoughts, she shoved her wand down on the table and paced towards the shattered window. She’d fix it in the evening, she thought absently.

"The pawn took the king," she said severely, eyes on the dark forest outside. "Sirius fell behind and was left behind. Half the Weasleys were killed for no reason, the other half took it upon themselves to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. My parents and countless other Muggles were murdered, either outright or accidentally."

She glanced at him with withering disdain. "The staff and most of the student body at Hogwarts were cleaned out in one week of organized chaos, brought on by your defection and disappearance."

He met her eyes and nodded shortly, but said nothing. She paused, her gaze dropping to the skin on the back of her left hand briefly. "Ron died saving Harry, Harry died saving us all."

Then her jaw tightened as she walked back towards the table. "Afterwards, no one knew their arse from their teakettle. Rampant rioting, Muggle military interference, everyone searching for someone to blame." She picked up her wand again, her fingers finding the grooves instantly. "The Ministry recovered enough to stay in position, the lone remaining Weasley at the head, but has little power. Trade is restricted to a trickle, the thieves' market is booming, and going out at night is an adventure involving small arms and a keen sense of self-preservation."

Her eyes narrowed at his lack of response. "...but you knew this, didn't you?

He nodded, thoroughly non-nonplussed. "I also know that you are part of the reason behind that boom, through a nasty little habit—kleptomania, I believe the Muggles call it?—you must've picked up from whichever twin lived through the Diagon Alley massacre. You've ensured the survival of the thieves market single-handedly, if even half the stories are true."

Her mouth opened, but she couldn't quite form a proper response. Which was alright, as he kept talking.

"I also have an idea about why you are so consistently pale, although, as you've probably heard, the common story is that you've been turned." He nearly smiled. "Porphyria isn't nearly as sexy as hero-to-demon lore."

She clutched her wand in a death grip, her stomach full of fire. "How the _hell_ do you know any of that? Or is it even worth asking?"

He deflected with little effort. "What do you know of the final battle?"

She blinked. "Battle? Harry was so fucked off he barely had to wave a hand in Voldemort's direction before they both molted into piles of white ash."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Awfully strong language. Have you really changed that much?"

"War is hell, they say," she countered smoothly. "Now are you going to answer my question or should I hex you—again—so I can get some sleep?"

He paused, lowering his eyes for a moment. "I'll answer it, in due time. You have to promise me you will do whatever it takes to get this through the networks and into the Ministry."

She raised a hand in protest. "It's very fragile, this calm we have right now, and something like this might exacerbate the situation beyond our control."

"Clearly." He waved his hand, and her papers appeared, settling gracefully onto the table between them. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be writing it. Now, shall we get started?"

\---

Hermione roughly twisted her hair back into its knot. Over the last four hours, she'd been absently playing with bits of it, pulling and looping and brushing errant hairs off the parchment over which she and Lupin— _Remus, as he said_ —were bent.

She was sick of it. Of all of it. Thinking about those last weeks, those last bloody days, nauseated and infuriated her to no end. And they'd barely started. They'd sketched an outline, and worked out a detailed description of the Order's headquarters and operational procedures. Or at least planned procedures.

"You need to sleep." He had leaned back in his chair and was watching her.

"Yes, I do." Taking that as an indication they were finished for the moment, she took the kettle off the burner and put the cups in the sink. "I'd offer you some entertainment in the meantime, but—"

"No, thank you." He deflected her sarcasm lightly. "I'll get some rest as well." At her questioning glance, he smiled a bit. "There's no monopoly on nocturnal behaviors. You do recall that I'm a werewolf, don't you?"

She tried not to flinch. "I'm afraid I don't have any sort of place for you to sleep."

He nodded towards the fireplace. "I can curl up there." Another startled glance from her prompted a chuckle. "As I said, they took good care of me. Taught me things." He held out a hand. "Trained me." She watched, fascinated, as his pale hand roughened into a dark paw.

"...how?"

"Plenty of practice. It was a bloody rough couple of years, I'll tell you that." He grimaced as his own hand reappeared. "And it still takes some effort."

"And causes you pain," she added, her voice quiet as she watched the lines on his brow fade away slowly.

"Yes, well...These things happen." He stood and gestured towards her bedroom door. "Shall we?"

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up momentarily. "I prefer to attempt the full-frontal version alone, if I may."

Heat rushed to her face. "Oh, yes, of course. Goodnight." She gave him a tight nod and retreated to her room.

The door clicked softly behind her. Her hand lingered on the cool metal of the doorknob before dropping to her side.

After undressing and putting on her nightclothes, she lay in bed for what felt like hours, staring at nothing. She saw, much to her chagrin, only his face, and the memories he had brought back to her.

She blamed the tea, right up until the moment she finally drifted off into sleep.

\---

When a knock woke her that evening, she sat up with a start, her hand already under her pillow and grasping her weapons.

"I apologize for waking you," his voice rumbled through the wood, "but I need my jacket, and your closet is being most uncooperative."

A small smile appeared then abated as she blinked sleepily at the darkness. Throwing the covers off, she walked to the door.

When the light from the hall hit her and she raised a hand to shield her eyes, his face froze. She must've looked a fright, she realized, with her frizzy hair and her grandmother-esque flannel nightgown. And the gun she still held near her forehead, haphazardly cocked, probably didn't help.

"Sorry," she murmured, dropping her Sig hand and squinting up at him. "Old habits."

This seemed to appease him. At least, he seemed to come back from wherever he'd gone. "Good morning."

"Evening."

"Right. So you'll...have a word with those percussion grenades, will you?"

She glanced at her bedside clock. "It's nearly time for me to be into town, anyways. I'll be out in a moment."

He nodded shortly and she shut the door, relaxing the fingers she found were clenched around her Sig.

\---

"Good evenin', Miss Elizabeth!" 

"Good evening, Nick." She watched as his eyes slid from her to Remus, then back again. She repressed a chuckle at the sad puppy-ish look on his face at seeing her with another man, despite how innocent—well, hardly, but in that one sense—the situation actually was. "This is—" She glanced at Lupin, thinking fast. "—my cousin, Nigel." Lupin inclined his head Nick's direction, and Nick looked him up and down fitfully. 

"Anything for me?" she continued, trying to sound her usual self despite the exhaustion and annoyance that accompanied her.

"But of course! Remember that special shipment you, er, heard about last month?" He spread his arms towards a glass case full of trinkets from the days before the war. "Here tis!" His grin radiated pride. "Some mighty fun stuff here, all right. Mighty fine. Books, scrolls, jewelry... Even wands!"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, assuming from his enthusiasm that he'd gotten stuck with a load of fakes, despite the time and effort she had spent ensuring the opposite. "Oh, really?" She leaned down to have a better look.

And suddenly couldn't breathe. " _Where_ did you say this was from?"

Nick blinked. "Scotland. That's all I know." She leveled her gaze at him, but he would say no more. Clearly, he knew these were not fakes.

"Scotland," she managed, trying to think over the roaring in her ears. "I hear they have lovely lakes."

Lupin chuckled beside her. This annoyed her. "Will you open the case, please?" she asked quickly. Nick hesitated. _Smart boy_. "Just for a moment. I just want to see what the other side of that comb looks like." She smiled slowly at him, calling on her oft-neglected feminine wiles.

"Oh, all right. Anything for you, Miss Elizabeth." Triumph curled through her as he fussed with keys. She stared at the handle of the silver comb as he reached for it.

Delicate roses twined up its back side, she already knew, but she turned it over anyways when he handed it to her. She knew because it had been her comb. At Hogwarts.

Hers. Lost during that week of hell and death, along with most of their other possessions, some of which were laying in the case as well, along with what looked like a Skivving Snackbox and—

And Neville's wand.

This time she could not hide the gasp as she straightened, stiff with shock. She felt Lupin draw up beside her. "Alright?" he murmured, softly enough that Nick did not hear.

"I'm fine," she hissed back under her breath. Riding the adrenaline from the discovery, she tore her eyes away from the wand and leaned towards Nick, a new twinkle in her eye. "Thank you, dear boy. I'll take that comb. You can put it on my tab."

He grinned at this, obviously chuffed. "All right."

\---

"So why'd you want it?" Lupin asked as they made their way through a series of dark, dank alleys on the way to another shop.

"It used to be mine, like I said, when I was—"

"Not the comb."

She flinched. "It's none of your business, really, and I'd appreciate it if you'd—"

Suddenly, his hand was on her arm, urgently pressing a tingling trepidation into her skin.

She hadn't heard a damn thing, but she wasn't daft. By the time the attack spell hit, her strongest ward was around them both. When contact was made, there was an ominous cracking noise, but no damage reached either of them.

Before she could summon the breath to cast a replacement ward, the impact of the next spell slammed into her back. She followed the arc of it, using the energy to spin around on her knees, both weapons out and firing before could see the whites of their eyes.

Good thing, too, because a nasty combination of bullets and spells was headed straight at them. Four to two, this time, and they'd meant it to be four to one. Fucking thugs. Fought dirty and fought hard, fought like the Ministry was paying them enough to make it worth the effort.

Clearly, they hadn't more to live for than she did.

"Remus!" she shouted, not looking at him as she blocked an ugly purple spell and shot one back at its sender. "Get the hell out of here. I can handle this."

One of the goons fell, twitching under a spell she'd never seen before, and her gaze swung over to Lupin, askance. He stood with his wand out and his teeth clenched, and she could've sworn his eyes were tinged a glowing red.

Her gaze off her targets, she was unprepared for the round that pierced her ward and slammed into her upper arm. She buckled down with a hissed curse. "God damn it!" She started to right herself, but a spell hit her in the gut, then another, and suddenly she felt like she was drowning in pain and noise and white-washed colours.

Then she heard the snarl. She blinked up through the swimming sickness to see a beast streak across the alley in a blur of motion and set into the attackers.

Viciously.

Her stomach churned at the sound of ripping flesh, and she tore her gaze away. The pain radiating through her ribcage seemed to be pushing blood out of the bullet hole in her arm faster than she'd thought possible, and she could feel the magic draining from her along with it.

She gripped her wand with both hands and whispered a spell she hadn't let herself think about since Neville's death.

White-hot pain surged through her and she cried out sharply, feeling as though she was being rent in two. Then it disappeared, leaving a vast, pulsing warmth where her magic should have been. Would be again, she forced herself to remember.

 _You'll be alright_ , his voice echoed in her head.

Her wand clattered to the ground as her gaze rose. Lupin leaned down to her, his clothing pristine but his skin splattered with blood. Her gaze fell. She couldn't look at it.

"Can you get up?"

She nodded mutely, lying through her teeth. She swept her weapons off the ground as if to prove it, holstering her gun and holding onto her wand as if it might disappear into thin air. She couldn't suppress a gasp of pain as her body reacted to the movements

He grimaced and reached for her. She protested, shoving with her good arm, but he already had one arm slung under her knees and the other under her shoulder blades. She bit back a scream as the lift jarred her wound, an expletive hissing out of her lips instead.

"Sorry," he murmured as he started to move away from the scene. "But under the circumstances, I don't believe I should try to Apparate us anywhere."

This distracted her from the pain a bit. "Why on earth not?"

"I can't manage much magic, either, after a performance like that."

She digested this information, her gaze sickly fixed on the neckline of the shirt he'd had on under his robes. It was so very white. "Your clothes." She tried to clear her throat, but her voice remained strained and scratchy. "How?"

"One learns early on to anticipate that bit." He slowed his pace long enough to nod back towards where they'd fought. It was nearly out of sight now, but she could just glimpse what must have been his outer robes puddled on the ground.

Then he shook his head once and strode forward again. "But that doesn't matter right now. You're in a spot of trouble."

"I am _not_ , I just need—"

"You need hospital."

"No!" She shook her head viciously, ignoring the way it made her head swim with pain. " _No_ , damn it. They're not safe. Just take me home. I need to get home, before—"

"Sunrise."

"—yes." 

He didn't answer for a moment. "Alright," he finally said, his jaw tight. He shifted her in his arms and increased his pace, causing her to bite down a yelp of pain and curl into herself. Into him.

His chin was rough against her forehead, but her head felt so heavy. The adrenaline had seeped out of her system, and the spell hadn't begun to bloom to full power. She couldn't summon the will to move away.

"Don't even think about it."

She struggled to open her eyes. "What?"

"You know better. Keep yourself awake."

She groaned softly. She did know better, but the darkness was always such a sweet temptation. "Fine, then, keep me awake. Present me with interesting discourse on the nature of mankind."

She could feel his smile. "I'd say you've more fodder for that, as I'm not the one that's just been attacked by four ruffians wearing Ministry identification."

"Don’t play innocent. You were expecting trouble."

"Not precisely that brand of trouble, though."

She made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn't answer the implied question. A hum had started in her veins, the spell initiating its second sequence, and she felt strength starting a slow crawl back into her body.

She lifted her head. They were in the thick of the woods, now. The air around them had that sweet indigo tang of pre-dawn night, and she breathed in deeply, testing for pains as air stretched her lungs. 

Other than a dull ache and the pulsing thrum around the bullet wound, there were none. No magic, either, but that was no cause for concern. Yet.

She nearly wept with relief.

"Put me down, please."

His grip merely tightened. "In a moment."

"No, _now_. Please."

"Is your magic back yet?"

"Of course not."

"Then you'll withstand a few more yards."

She made an indignant noise. "It's more than a few yards to my home, you ingrate."

He actually _chuckled_ at this, and her annoyance stretched into anger. Her hand twitched to pull out her Sig and see how well _he_ managed.

But the spell was exacerbating her emotions, she knew; also, her wound had yet to be treated, and although she felt less drained, she couldn't push herself too far too fast. She repressed a scowl.

"Why were they after you?"

She considered not answering, but knew he'd keep badgering her until she did, and it wasn't as if she had much else to do at the moment. "The Ministry sends them every few weeks," she said matter-of-factly. "Usually there aren't four, and usually I don't have anyone...anything distracting me."

"Apologies."

"And usually none of them end up dead."

His mouth tightened just the slightest bit. "You don't sound too disappointed."

"They'll send others." She paused, seeing her cottage approach through the trees. Her casual disregard for the thugs' lives wasn't the thing she wanted to discuss. "I didn't know it was like that."

He tensed. "I'm assuming you mean the fact that I just brutally killed four men?" It was clearly a rhetorical question. "Yes, well..." He exhaled slowly and stopped in front of her wards, lowering her gently to the ground. "It's normally not...quite like that."

He kept an arm around her waist, a fact she was trying to ignore but was, to her chagrin, entirely grateful for, as her body wasn't quite yet interested in listening to her commands. "No? Usually it's tea and biscuits and a walk in the park, is it?"

"Since I went east and got help, yes, that's actually very close to the truth. And even before that, with Wolfsbane I was able to be harmless." His voice quieted. "I haven't lost control like that in a very long time."

There was silence for a moment. "Are you recovered enough to clear the wards?" She nodded towards the house.

He grimaced, but took his hand away to get out his wand. She fought the urge to clutch onto him, forcing her body to stay vertical on its own despite the disturbing pull to do otherwise.

It was harder for him this time, made little beads of sweat appear on his temples, but eventually she heard the wards break with a small sharp noise.

"Nicely done." She tried taking a step forward, but he stopped her, his hand light but firm.

"You've got a wound that needs tending to."

She pursed her lips, but stood still and allowed him to say the proper incantations. She felt the skin seal itself for healing, and the pain dropped off till it was merely a sting. "Thank you," she managed grudgingly before starting again towards the door.

She felt his hands on her arms immediately and shrugged him off. "I think I can make it to the door on my own, Remus." _Most likely._

"Fine." His hands left her, though he stayed close behind. "But I'm going to fix tea, you're going to drink it, then you're going to sleep." He reached around her to open the door. "No negotiating."

She gritted her teeth and stepped into her house. Her skin was crawling with awareness from having him so close, and her whole body tingled with the spell, not to mention exhaustion and probably some shell-shock. She just needed to get to the sunrise, and then she was pretty sure she'd fall asleep in about a second, without tea or his assistance.

"I don't need or want your coddling, Remus. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." She walked across the room to prove her point. "See? I'm fine." Every step was measured and felt like a mile, but he didn't have to know that, now, did he? She started towards the back door.

"You'll need rest in order for that spell to keep working," he called out sharply.

"I'm perfectly aware of that, thank you," she shot back. "But have to—take care of something. Just give me a moment."

As soon as she felt the familiar rough bark of the tree beneath her hand, some calm flowed back into her veins. She could feel him behind her, too close, but she found she didn't mind. She was alright, for the moment; the familiarity of the aching longing soothed the ceaseless unrest. She could feel the spell working in her gut, the nausea assuring her it would be finished soon enough.

"You do this every sunrise?" he asked quietly. She nodded, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Even though it causes you pain?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Remus. War does things. Besides, you don't have a monopoly on masochism."

He let that go in silence, for which she was thankful. "When did it happen?" he asked after a moment.

"The day before the final battle. Nott hit us with...well, something you wouldn't understand. We didn't know it at the time, but some of the Death Eaters had been collaborating—that's the tasteful way of putting it—with special weapons researchers from the Muggle world, something called nuclear weaponry. All we saw was Nott throwing a shiny ball at us, and—" She tucked down a flinch. "Well. The ones that hadn't been quick enough with protective charms were incinerated, while the rest of us were left with this. Harry and Ron, of course, only had a few hours of darkness left in their lives, anyways, so they never had any idea."

She stopped, tipped up her chin. "There now."

The first rays hit her hands and face, weakly pushing through the cloud cover to cause the slightest sting, a sting that grew as the clouds thinned. She waited for the redness to spread like fire across her skin. Most mornings, she would go back inside now. But today she stayed still.

"That's enough." His voice bit into the calm.

Her brows drew together slightly, but she didn't turn to him. "No, I'm fine, I'm not really in any p—"

"That's _enough_." His hand gripped her elbow and spun her around. "It wasn't your fault, Hermione. None of it."

She wrenched free of his grasp, startled and angered. "Fuck you. You don't know anything about it."

"And neither do you."

"Right, well, like I said, f—"

He had her wrist again, his grip like iron. "Don't."

"Or you'll what?" she cried, her anger finally too much to keep tamped down. "Betray me again? Leave a place to which you were never invited? _Kill_ me?" She laughed a mirthless laugh, then held out her wand to him, business-end away from her. "Go on, then. It's useless to me at the moment, and you'd be doing a lot of people a favour."

Something flitted across his anger-darkened features—and she was startled to see a red spark fly between them.

Her magic was coming back.

Her stomach vaulted and her gaze flew up to his face—only to find him leaning down to her, pushing his lips into hers. She automatically brought her hands up to shove him away, but was dismayed when she hadn't the strength. And even more dismayed when she realized her body was sucking it in like it was water in a desert. Her body, apparently, didn't care that this man had ruined her life.

When he pulled back, a firm grip holding both her hands against his chest, he was quite pale and she felt quite nauseous. The spell did that, she remembered. The spell.

He stood very still, searching her face for an endless moment, and then shook his head. "Tea," he said quietly, letting go of her hands and stepping back. "It's time for tea." He turned to go inside before she could even fathom saying anything.

She stood there, her mind working furiously. She laid a hand on her churching stomach, as if it would help the sickness stay down. Magic was rumbling low in her blood, exhaustion marred her senses, and her skin felt stretched and parched from the sun beginning to beam earnestly onto her back. Her bottom lip was curiously warm.

She shook her head, glanced back at the woods one more time, and then went inside.

\---

"There'll be tea in a moment," he said from the stove, not turning as she shut the door behind her.

She pursed her lips at his back. He knew as well as she that the spell needed time to work, and that she needed to rest. "No, thank you. I'm just going straight to bed." As it was, the weariness was starting to creep into her bones.

He turned, holding a mug tightly in his hand. "Tea." His eyes met hers. She waited for him to look away, but he didn't, for some unfathomable reason. She probably looked like a disaster, she realized, and broke the gaze herself.

"It's late," she argued. _I'm tired_ , she thought, but would never admit aloud.

"I know. This will help."

Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him, debating with herself. After a disturbingly short amount of time, her legs demanded she sit, so she did, trying not to scowl. Their fingers touched as she took the cup from him, and the scowl escaped.

The fact that it turned out to be very nice tea didn't help one bit, but as the warmth—both natural and, she suspected, added—spread through her, her annoyance dissipated.

She sat back in her chair as he took a seat across the table. "You must have something you wish to say," she said with a sigh, "what with not letting me go to bed even when you yourself insisted upon it a mere half hour ago. So get on with it."

"Fair enough." He looked at his tea for a moment, then again at her. "I feel as though I should apologize for my obvious lack of self-control. It's nearing full moon, you see, and it gets...more difficult to present oneself in the usual fashion." He took a drink of tea, and she raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was finished. When the silence stretched, she began to stand.

"However," he continued mildly. "I must admit that I am not sorry."

Her gaze flicked to him and she sat back again rather abruptly, her brows pulling together. "What?"

"The men that attacked you weren't worth the time we spent on them."

"Of course they weren't. But that doesn't—"

"Yes, it does." His tone was unrelenting as he placidly regarded his tea. "Sacrifices have to be made, and oftentimes that includes things contrary to one's conscience."

Anger bloomed in her once more, hot and familiar, but the weariness in her body simmered it down to mere annoyance. "You would know, wouldn't you?" She didn't bother to try and hide her disgust. "I should've killed you yesterday."

"And yet here I am." He met her gaze evenly, a hint of a challenge lurking in his eyes. "And I happen to have saved your life."

"Yes, well, thank you very much." She saluted him ironically with her mug. "And thank you for the tea, even though it's my tea. Tonight you can make me breakfast out of my own eggs and sausages, if you like." She gave him her most sardonic look. "May I go now, sir?"

Much to her chagrin, she could see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm not finished." 

"Well, I don't bloody wel—"

"Because I also don't imagine I will ever apologize for kissing you."

Her stomach did a full flip and her mug found the table with a dull thud.

Part of her had been hoping it had been her imagination. Even though she didn't generally hope for such things.

But knowing that it was real—

Her exhaustion-addled mind rejected it, refused to process it. She shook her head.

He must've seen the gesture, because he dropped the subject. "Go on, now, get some rest," he said quietly. When she chanced a look at him, he was merely regarding his cup thoughtfully. "If you need anything..." He nodded briefly toward the hearth.

She rose quickly, but had to steady herself when vertigo threatened. Once the dizziness stopped, she glanced at him, murmured a "Goodnight," and was gone, down the hall and towards the blessed blackness of sleep.


End file.
